Sniffles journal. Day #912
Sniffles, the ancient one, started his journey through some weird rancid concoction swerved by the constant bus-to-wonderland-by-the-way of the quintessential function of the waterfall's shower - focus once, forget-me-not.
"My have I been here before", Sniffles wondered before he sat on a salted rock and waited for the quintessential thud - a mere easy breeze. Fire fights no water if a samsara rams on them rocks in gentle grunts. It turns into a properly rabid whirlpool; the shit hitting the flam.
And the flames kept in circles, circles turned to eyes and he was back into the blue tiled cramped moon for iced fish. No sleep and no wish, wild life?
It is, it is not, maybe it is, it could be, it could be not, maybe it isn't, it's neither; it's all of the aforementioned, & variations of the aforementioned/aforementioned at yer own discretion.
Let it be yer gardener.
Charging home, he went for a walk. Up the sacred fire hills to dry'n'steam him up into a rhetorical puddle of bliss. That's ole' Sniffles. Released from the minx opiate basement of unwordy choices, heaving air, building a collapse.
It is not. A salamander it is?
Nice. Let's talk about Sniffles in the Fifth town, where upon the reptiles charge the blue light bar, an old somewhat fair tale. It was on his memory?
Take it away, Sniffles.
"As a conglomeration, I fool them reptiles back three years ago. It's the Blue Lite bar, whereupon I dig a gig, Jane the angel sits around winking for a drink, the barman's a gnat'n'painkiller pusher; the ridiculousnesss -- sss -- they would think I'm somewhat a reptile. Nope, salamander. Blinded by sacred Lyte. Someone flashes some cheap H-bomb light to further burn my eyesight - no fair play to my blindedness, but my gills and chill pills catch up the inherent smoky vaudeville chemistry of the hidden no meanings.
Missing Jane. Last Tuesday, she was caught by the bouncers and burned in the cleansing blue fire by the exit near the fire escape linked to my apartment building. It's oft hideous business. Tight also. Fast?
Damn. Of course she was smilin'n'shit, and I had a gig to play. I asked Ed the barman - 'why do they do that if she keeps coming back and they let it?' Ed said 'Well, she shouldn't trick people into buying drinks. Especially if she's an angel. It's yer sister, right?' 'Oh brother'. Saw her melting and grinning and giggling as my cramped leg flushed a broken record. Plays on 16RPM. So I picked my strumpet and the cocktail drum kit and the red Rhodes family. My if I remember the configuration correctly - y'know, they came from this ululating pawnshop for dire barbers. Nearly a given. Nasty habits, nasty doings, nasty thoughts. Wrong, pipetoot. Wrogn. Wrnog? Play it backwards again, Sam."
That was Sniffles. That's it is not for now(?)
@ellowrites #newwordmincing. #somethingalsooldsomethingalsoblew @udiophile #spreaditaround
